Finger fucking ladies

The women move closer on the velvet couch, silk sliding over silk. One catches the other's lip between her teeth, pulls, then kisses deep. Their mouths meet wet and wanting, tongues seeking. Her hand slips between parted thighs and finds heat. Fingers part slick folds with practiced grace, glide through. She circles the swollen nub with the pad of her thumb, then slides two fingers inside, slow at first, feeling the give, the heat. The rhythm builds, each thrust deliberate. The other woman rocks against the motion, breath catching, hips lifting. Mouths still hungry, they trade soft sounds, fingers buried to the knuckle, wetness coating the knuckles with every draw. She curls her fingers just right, presses, coaxes a pulse inside, another. Their legs tangle. One girl's heels dig into the upholstery, the other curls her toes hard. Slick with need, the couch dampens where they meet.